


To Shop, Perchance to Scheme

by Neftzer_nettlestonenell



Series: Fare Thee Well [5]
Category: Highlander: The Raven
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Las Vegas, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-08-20
Updated: 1999-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neftzer_nettlestonenell/pseuds/Neftzer_nettlestonenell
Summary: in which the Raven must decidewhether it is nobler in the mindto suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fashion,or ply one's charms against a sister immortal,and by purchasing, amend them





	To Shop, Perchance to Scheme

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HL Raven's Nest](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HL_Raven%27s_Nest). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HL Raven's Nest's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hlravensnest/profile).

To Shop, Perchance to Scheme by Ailis

 **To Shop, Perchance to Scheme**

_in which the Raven must decide_  
whether it is nobler in the mind  
to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fashion,  
or ply one's charms against a sister immortal,  
and by purchasing, amend them 

by: ailis 

**Paris, 6 rue Vivienne, 2e, Jean-Paul Gaultier Maison** \-- It was the fourth couture house of the day, and they had not even reached Thierry-Mugler yet, where her new suit was scheduled for its third and final fitting. 

Amanda impatiently sipped her tea in the viewing room as she waited for Caitlin to appear, and resigned herself momentarily to staring unpleasantly in the general direction of the vendeuse who had had the nerve to stammer, "Madam," when she and Cat had arrived two hours prior. The woman had gulped it in that smooth, shop-girl--Amanda thought vengefully--way. In light of Amanda's expression in response, she had quickly appended, "...moiselle," to the greeting and scurried away quickly enough after that, handing them over to Claudette, Amanda's private saleswoman, who was in the fitting room just now with Cat. 

Amanda sat the bone china cup back in its saucer as silently as she had lifted it. Its quiet return did nothing to disturb the calming atmosphere that radiated from the room with its plush chaise lounges, soft music and expensive fin-de-siecle wallpaper. 

It was too bad Jean-Paul was out of town, she would have liked to see him, and his presence would have helped to pass the time. Buying clothes for other people was fun, but nowhere near as fun as trying them on for yourself. She missed Lucy, who was always good on such occasions. 

In lieu of companionship, Amanda began to leaf absently through one of the magazines left for her on the table next to some fabric swatches. She eyed the tea cup again, loathe to raise it. Tea. Why couldn't they spring for something less staid, something, perhaps, with bubbles? 

Sitting still for this long with nothing to divert her mind or hands only meant one thing. Wondering again about Nick and where he had found to go, and whether he was indeed safe, as his letter had said. _I am safe, do not try to find me._ He hadn't even signed it. She felt that, to her core. He wouldn't even give her his name on a piece of paper. No doubt because he had decided she had already taken enough of him. 

She turned the page and willed herself to concentrate on next year's hemlines, and the triumphant, if somewhat dubious, return of the bust. 

* * *

Two weeks ago, Amanda had been travelling down a side street, worrying that it might be going to rain before she reached Sanctuary. Up ahead in the gloomy sky, she caught a glimpse of lightening. A small burst, but a few moments later a thrumming in her head confirmed that the pyrotechnics had nothing to do with the meteorological situation. 

As it had whenever her radar went off recently, she became curious to know who might be in town, always keeping Nick in mind. Saying a little prayer that he wasn't one of the combatants, she hustled down an alley to see who was squaring off. 

Amanda had never been an immortal who liked to watch. For the most part she found other people's fights as boring as watching two guys you didn't know throw craps. She had even found her attention wandering in the past when fights broke out and one of her friends was involved. The final blow was all the mattered anyway. Everything before was just a preview. 

She noted immediately that it was not Nick and allowed herself a moment of relief before something caught her eye. A man and a woman were going at it hot and heavy, both in the longer coats and darker colors that immortals seemed to prefer. The mechanical sound of a camera's shutter opening and closing went off nearby and her eye saw the reflection off of the lens. A Watcher, she assumed, diagonal from her. He had nothing to worry about as far as discovery. Undoubtedly the fighters wouldn't notice such a subtle sound. 

Another shutter released, this time closer. Now that one was riskier. How many would they have sent to record the fight? Three, four? One with the van to do removal tasks for the loser? But she had forgotten. No doubt one of the three was here by virtue of her presence. 

Before she could let herself loose on a mental rant against Watchers, though, the woman's fighting became familiar. She was using Duncan's moves. From her guarded corner, Amanda was perplexed. She had no memory of Duncan ever teaching a woman. She smiled...not how to fight, anyway. 

The duo was not well-matched in size, strength, or, from what Amanda's sensors were telling her, age. The man seemed to be the elder, more experienced fighter, but his moves were also older, parries and blows that long-ago swordmasters had found the means of countering. But size and strength lay on his side. The woman was uncommonly agile and inventive but nonetheless, she was taking quite a beating in the process of winning. 

A well-seized opening led the woman into the final parry and assault, and the Quickening started, even as the head came off its base. Amanda stepped further into her nook, so as not to be shaken by the force, nor rained upon by debris and sparks. 

As the lightening and electrical shower lit the alleyway, the woman's features were highlighted, so that even over the distance, Amanda could not mistake the tufty blonde hair, the brown eyes that slanted just a little, and the turned-up nose that belonged to Caitlin Richards. She knew it was a trick of the light, but Amanda fancied that in the flash she could even see the three freckles across Cat's left cheekbone that always left her wanting to brush them away with the back of her hand. 

The moves were Duncan's then, handed down to Richie, and from him to Cat, who at the time had known nothing of her own immortality and had thought Richie's instruction only a whim to give himself a sparring partner. Despite that, it was obvious she had learned quickly and well. Amanda did not wonder at Cat's having turned down her offer to teach her, compulsory though it had been. The young woman was quite good on her own. 

The Quickening died down and Amanda briefly wondered if she would stay or leave, but a look at Cat, who was dry heaving against her sword, made the decision for her. 

As she came nearer the kneeling girl, swaying and as yet unable to stand, Amanda's Presence registered with Cat. 

"Amanda," Cat said to the approaching figure towering over her, clearly surprised. She instinctively tucked in her head and attempted to wipe her face clear of the blood that had run from a broken nose and cheekbone, now perfectly knit beneath it. That exercise left the back of her hand quite messy, and she looked for someplace to wipe it before settling on the shirt of the man she had killed. She crawled to his body, using her sword as a prop. 

"Does this still happen every time?" Amanda asked, crouching near Cat. "Getting sick, I mean." 

"No," Cat struggled to stand, with Amanda's assistance. "Only with the bigger light displays." She leaned herself for a moment against a nearby wall. 

Amanda stood as well and made her way over to where the head had landed against a dumpster. Careful not to get anything unsavory on herself, she prodded it lightly with her toe until it rolled face up. "Olsen Kopp," she identified it, in a tone that was somewhere between wonder and disbelief. 

"Not a friend of yours, I hope," Cat's brows lifted in question as she tested her balance without the aid of the wall. 

"No, not hardly." 

Cat's attempt failed, and she slumped back against her support. In the distance, sirens were beginning to sound, and to approach. 

"It would seem we've stayed too long," Amanda commented, as though something rather embarrassing had occurred at a dinner party. Her eyes were scanning the surroundings for a means of escape. The Quickening had hit Cat hard, and Amanda was not sure how far the girl could get before collapsing, nor how long she could carry her once she had. There was the added bonus that Cat looked frightful, disheveled and blood smeared, prompting any curious--and weren't they all--cab driver to insist on a trip to the emergency room. 

Her decision was made quickly. 

"Two blocks," she instructed Cat, careful not to give too much away to Watch-ful ears. "If we get that far, we'll be fine." 

* * *

Forty-five minutes and many twists and turns about the Paris sewer system later, the two were comfortably ensconced in Amanda's apartments above Sanctuary, Amanda making herself a drink, and Cat finishing with a post-Quickening shower down the hall. 

It gave her a chance to recall the last time she had seen Cat. It had been shortly after the service for Richie that Cat requested they hold. 

Nick had assumed that Amanda would take Cat on as a student, but Amanda was not so sure. 

"Are you just gonna leave her out there to get whacked?" Nick questioned, his temper and outrage flaring up. 

"It's not a decision you make quickly, Nick," she had tried to explain. "It's like having a baby. It takes a lot of time, and it isn't something you want to be doing every other year." 

"I know what it is," he accused her, "you don't like Cat. You haven't trusted her from the beginning." He almost forced a laugh. "You still think maybe she's out for your MacLeod after all!" 

It was a ridiculous statement, although Amanda did have to admit to herself that she did not feel entirely comfortable around the younger immortal, for whatever reasons. Admit to herself, but not to Nick. 

"Well, if you won't teach her, I won't stand by and let her get killed. I'll find somebody to do it." Nick promised. 

"Oh really," she couldn't resist the urge to tease. "And who are you going to ask? Liam? No, don't think so. He's been out of the game too long, was barely in it when he was. Or Methos? Dear, dear Methos. If you can persuade him, I've got several millions francs with your name on them. Or perhaps, you've found some sort of Immortal underground connections? A new listing in the phone book? Immortal students wanted. Will train?" Now it was Amanda's turn to harrumph. "Don't be ridiculous." 

"Fine then, I'll teach her myself." 

The claim was so outrageously comical as to make her laugh, but she stifled it. Nick really was upset. And she wasn't entirely able to take his scolding without regretting that he saw her that way, as self-centered at the expense of anyone. Even so, humorous visions of Nick struggling to show Cat how to hold a sword, or how to fight for someone of her size gave way to the beginning of a wrinkled frown line between her brows. 

"Is that what you want, Nick? Really?" 

His earnest stare was enough to convince her that it was. 

"Fine then, I'll tell her." She acquiesced. 

"Tonight," he prompted, "before she decides to move on." 

But Cat had declined the offer, choosing instead to go it alone with whatever craft Richie had been able to impart to her before his disappearance and death. 

When Cat returned from her shower, Amanda felt the Buzz come off her and the surprising power it held for one so young. 

"How many challenges have you had since I saw you last?" she asked conversationally, coming into the sitting room with a drink for Cat, who was taking a towel to her hair. 

Amanda had personally chalked up five, but only in two instances had she taken heads. Once Nick had beaten her out, once Liam had gotten his way, and once she had managed to get the defeated party to leave town without further violence. Even at five, though, Amanda considered that a busy season. And then Nick had left. She shook off the thought to focus on Cat, who was still vigorously toweling her hair. 

"I've been in twelve fights," Cat offered from under the towel. "And as I am still here, you can assume I won them all." She pulled the towel off her head to reveal her face. "I seem to come across as an easy target. Either that or you have to challenge me to gain entrance into a chic new Parisian fraternity." She gave a small and mostly wry smile. 

"Did you know Kopp?" Amanda asked, curiously. 

"No. That is, we weren't introduced or anything, but he did tie up my landlady and get me fired from two jobs." 

"Well, I wouldn't cry bitter tears over his death," Amanda's stomach turned at the thought. "He was a scum-sucking bastard if there ever was one. Last time I saw him was in aught-eight when I had the dubious honor of gaining a passage on his slave ship of comfort women out of Shanghai." She winced inwardly at the memory. "Believe me, if I had known the first thing about sailing, I'd have taken his head just for sport, and his clipper, too." 

"It's okay, Amanda," Cat said genuinely. "You don't have to convince me. I've made my peace with what we do to live." 

Amanda smiled apologetically, wishing as she did around very few people that she had a more noble story to impart. "And obviously you've also gotten very good at it." 

Cat ignored the compliment. 

"I'm not just whistling Dixie, darling. When I knew him, Kopp was passing the seven-hundred mark. I would never have put good odds on you today." Amanda perched on the arm of the sofa, and raised her drink to the light. "I won't make that mistake again." She toasted and drank. 

"Where is Nick?" Cat asked, bringing the only recently-raised ceiling of settledness crashing down on Amanda. Her ears rang for a moment. 

"Hmmm?" Amanda replied absently. 

"After my shower I went by to knock on his door, but no one answered," Cat explained. 

"Well, he's probably just out. He'll be back soon enough." 

"I saw Pascal," Cat continued, as though she hadn't heard Amanda, "and he said Nick moved out." 

Caught, Amanda segued, "Well, yes, that's right. Nick has moved out. He's left Paris." Something inside of her wanted to dissolve in front of someone, beg for comfort, but another part of her didn't want to seem weak, unstable, no matter in front of whom. Talking about Nick was like letting a stranger look through her closet, or pick through her laundry--things that were private, and nothing of which to be proud. 

So she let it stand. Nick had left Paris. Was that even the truth? She had searched long enough without finding him. Had he left? She wasn't sure. She hoped he had. 

"You say you lost your job because of Kopp?" Amanda switched trains of thought. "You know, maybe it's better that you get out of Paris. You're still young and Paris is an old city. Because of that it attracts a lot of Immortals who come for the memories, the ambiance, the other Immortals. Paris has a very high beheading quotient. Higher than say, Pocahontas, Arkansas." 

"Where?" Cat asked incredulously. 

"Arkansas," Amanda answered, with half her mind, a plan already coming together in the other. 

"Even if I wanted to leave, which I'm not sure about, I told you, I lost my job, and my place to live. I don't have any money. It will be months before I can save up enough." 

"Darling, if you were in trouble, why didn't you come by?" Amanda asked, feeling affronted that her generosity had not been sought. 

"I did. I dropped by to see Nick, to ask about a loan, but he was out." Cat recalled the day, trying to get past Gerard who had been uncharacteristically belligerent about guarding the door after a harsh scolding from Pascal. Neither Amanda nor Nick had been in, and so she had left, meaning to return at another time. 

"He came by my apartment,--when I still had one--my landlady said, wanting to find me, but I was too busy running from another guy. I wasn't there, and I've been chased pretty solidly by Kopp since then." 

"Why didn't you ask me?" Amanda felt hurt. "You could have called, anytime. I would have helped you out." 

Cat had no excuse good enough. In truth Amanda was a little intimidating, and ever since she had declined her offer of teaching, Cat had felt that asking for Amanda's help would be seen as a weakness, a sign that her refusal that day had been wrong. Instead of replying to Amanda's question, she waited. 

Amanda answered for her. "You always did feel closer to Nick, didn't you?" She sighed. "Well, I'm going to make it up to you now. It just so happens that I need an assistant." 

Cat did not respond, only looked at Amanda out of the corner of her eye so that Amanda could almost read the questions forming inside the girl's mind as though they were hanging in the air. _Larceny? Petty theft? Fraud?_ they read in a thick, curlicue scrawl. 

"We leave in two weeks," she began commandingly, as though Cat had already accepted. "Until then, you can use Nick's rooms which are still furnished." That hurt, to give her Nick's things, but she needed Cat's cooperation, or her plan wouldn't work. 

"So what are we doing, Amanda?" Cat finally asked, as she accepted the keys. 

There was pride in Amanda's eyes as she proved Cat's speculations wrong. "We're opening a club in Las Vegas." 

"Las Vegas?" said Cat, perplexed. 

"You know, in Nevada?" Amanda answered with a sparkle in her eye. "But first, we shop." 

* * *

Amanda had been adamant with herself. A new wardrobe was a necessary component for opening a Sanctuary in the new Paris, Las Vegas on the Strip. Just some nice little couture things she could keep in the closet there for visits, something by Parisian designers to wow the locals and tourists. She thought of it as a business matter, although a very pleasant one, and she had waited until the last possible minute to order them, so they were sure to be the most current stunners in all of Sin City. 

She had systematically visited all her favorite houses in Paris, finally narrowing her choices down to the top four, who, graciously recognizing Amanda as a valuable buyer and a wonderful over-seas promoter of their clothes, offered bona-fide discounts and complimentary gifts, even though one and all secretly agreed that the idea of re-creating the City of Lights in Vegas was at its worst crass and at its best, hopelessly American. 

When repeatedly questioned by the skeptical Cat as to why she needed an assistant for the venture, Amanda broke down and made up a list of busy-work for her, and depended heavily on reason Number 768; desire to have a travelling companion, as she hated traveling alone, and thought for a single woman it seemed desperate and unbecoming. A complete and total lie, of course, but swallowed whole by Cat. 

Amanda even concocted a story about how she might be unfortunately recognized in Vegas by past associates, so she would have to play her (Amanda Darrieux's) own daughter (Amanda Montrose), and Cat would have to play her (Amanda Montrose's) daughter, and kindly drop the occasional hint about some age-defying surgery if anyone became overly curious. 

The real kicker came when Amanda decided to take Cat along on her final round of fittings, and Cat showed up in her usual oxford and jeans. The oxford she had taken from Nick's highboy; while Amanda could hardly stand the familiarity of the shirt, knowing that his scent probably still clung to it, she was more repelled to learn that Cat simply had no clothes. That was something outside Amanda's range of thought, and something that very quickly had to be remedied. The opening gala was September first, and while Cat should not be as elegantly outfitted as her "mother" she should come across as at least belonging in the same room as her. 

"Haven't you any dresses?" Amanda begged. 

"I lost the only one I had when I had to leave my apartment in a hurry." Cat looked sheepish, "and I can't go back." 

"No, darling, of course you can't. I'm not asking you to. But do you even know what size you are? Euro, American? Venezuelan, anything?" Amanda pleaded. 

"Well, I wore a six habit, but I don't know if that will be helpful." Cat laughed. "I never really had many clothes. A habit, and sometimes a pair of jeans, maybe a t-shirt or something from the missionary box." It was comical to see Amanda defenseless in the face of such a fashion Luddite, powerless to accept what she was hearing. 

"The missionary box," Amanda echoed hollowly. "Well then my duty is clear." 

And before Cat could say haute-couture-house-of-style-and- fashion, she was being dragged into one after another by Amanda, who was too caught up to be shamed by the horrified looks as Cat entered in her oxford and jeans. 

After the second stop, though, Cat had become cognizant enough to notice for both of them and asked for a bag, saying she would wear one of their selections out that day. 

"What shall I do with these?" the vendeuse asked tentatively, hoping the reply would involve the word burn. The bag was brought, and Amanda's quest continued on. 

"Why are you doing this?" Cat asked, feeling guilty for the expense being showered on her. 

"I like it," said Amanda, "and I'm your boss, so humor me." 

"But Boss," said Cat, in a dead-on mimic of Pascal, "what you're paying for this, so many people could use to eat. To live." 

Laughing at her clever companion and not annoyed by the reprimand, Amanda promised that come morning, Father Liam would have in his hands a check for a matching amount to be distributed to the parish, and Cat relented. 

By late afternoon they had all the trappings Cat might need for the trip. There was only the evening gown and the jewelry to go. The jewelry was being sent over from Harry Winston in Los Angeles on the night of the fete, guards in tow. Amanda had phoned them with new instructions about something for Cat. She had requested a delicate necklace of aquamarines. Hardly the thing Harry Winston was famous for, but she had to be sure Cat wouldn't refuse to wear it. Giving the matter a further second of thought, she had also asked for several matching jeweled bobby pins, which would look fabulous in Cat's short hair. 

Outfitting the young immortal had not been easy. Her style and body type were so different from that of her own. But no matter how perplexing the day had been, Cat had not been uncivil, nor had she previously kept Amanda waiting this long. 

Amanda heard a stirring behind the door next to the hassock and three-way mirror, and she replaced the magazine and waited for the Claudette to enter. Glancing at her watch, she realized that the house was now closed. 

"Amanda," Claudette entered and said, studied lines formed in her face. "Something, I don't know. She refuses to leave the fitting room." 

Cocking an eyebrow in response, and not knowing what sort of excuse to offer, Amanda followed Claudette further into the maze of hallways to the fitter's room, whose door was indeed, locked. 

Tilting her head to the side, she asked for a few moments alone, assuring Claudette that everything was fine and Mademoiselle Caitlin would be out in a moment. 

Certainly not believing her, but without an inch of skepticism registering on her well-trained face, Claudette excused herself, agreeing to meet with both women back in the viewing room. No mention was made of the time. 

"Cat," Amanda said tentatively, "is something going on?" She strained to hear. She knew from the Buzz that Cat was inside. "Darling, I haven't kept one of the houses open after hours since I convinced Coco to finish my alterations the night before the Nazis arrived." 

Nothing. 

A quick and smooth gesture from Amanda, born of years of practice, and the door opened to her, revealing the room, just as it had been a week earlier when she had had her own fitting, with the exception of a quivering bundle of cornsilk tulle topped by a banana yellow head of hair hunched into a corner. 

Having no idea what to say, as well as no idea as to what instigated such a reaction, Amanda crossed the room quickly and eased herself--no small feat in her own much-above-the knee-skirt--onto the floor beside Cat, who from all appearances had been crying. 

After several minutes, Amanda said quietly. "I don't mind if you keep crying, but were going to have to go so they can close up." No response. She took some of the skirt's yardage into her fingers and gave it a little tug. "Also, we're going to have to buy that dress." Tug. "Whether you like it or not, they're not going to take it back now." Tug, tug.. "You're nowhere near famous enough for that." 

Cat's shoulders contracted again, but Amanda's ears told her this time that it was from a laugh and not a sob. Cat looked up and wiped her eyes with two fists, like a small child. 

"When does it get easier?" she asked, without preamble, cutting through any explanations in her own direct way. 

Amanda waited. 

"The yellow dress I had, the one I wore to the memorial? It was the only dress I owned." 

Amanda remembered it. Pale yellow silk shantung. She had pulled it out of Cat's duffel when she had Liam were searching the room. There was no longer any need for Amanda to prompt her with an, 'and...' Cat was ready to talk now. "Richie, he bought it for me. Brought it home with him one night." 

"He had good taste," Amanda offered. 

"He liked it when I wore it. He said," she stopped. 

Amanda leaned her head in and rested it against Cat's forehead. "He said you looked beautiful in it." Cat nodded, eyes closed against the tears, her forehead still against Amanda's. "And he was right. You looked beautiful, just like you do now." No wonder she had been crying. Amanda felt saddened just from the aura Cat was putting out into the room. 

"I want him here," Cat said and opened her eyes. "I wish he could see me now." 

Amanda rolled hers in response. "Well, maybe not exactly just now?" and rubbed her nose playfully against Cat's, reminding her of the rumpled tulle and her puffy, red, tear-stained face. 

Cat smiled tentatively, and Amanda hauled them both to their feet. 

"I don't know much about love, Amanda." Cat offered. 

"It's okay," Amanda said reassuringly, "it's okay to feel beautiful, to be beautiful again. It will get easier, without him here." She felt like a hypocrite saying it, though her own past experience proved it to be true. "And one day, somewhere in the future, you'll be doing the most ordinary thing, like eating cereal, or pumping gas, or listening to Geoffrey Chaucer recite the _Wife of Bath's tale_ for the thirtieth time, and when you think of Richie, you won't want to collapse into a wall or cry or scream, or feel like you're going to explode. You'll still have your memories, but they'll be clearer, without that pressure you feel now." 

"If I live that long," came in addition. 

But Amanda ignored the remark, passing it off with a shrug. It was time to leave. She found Claudette and had her return to the fitting room to see to Cat, who declined the offer of changing into something else for the trip home. 

"Do you think it's too late to get my ears pierced?" Cat asked. 

Amanda only smiled in return. 

In the three-way mirror, Amanda was looking at Cat in the dress for the first time. It had a corseted bodice and a full skirt of tulle, which had recovered nicely from her crouch in the corner. Cat did look beautiful, like a sprite in an old-fashioned fairy book. There was a time when Amanda had believed in sprites. Believed in happily-ever-afters. 

What the hell, she thought, there's a sprite standing right here in front of me. Who am I to disbelieve my own eyes? 

* * *

They walked out of the house just as the street lights were coming on, and when Amanda suggested a cab, Cat rolled her eyes dramatically. 

"What, and spoil my gown?" Which had them both laughing, and falling into each other like tipsy friends. 

When the giggles subsided, Cat went on to ask, "Amanda, I saw the tickets. Why is our flight stopping over in Texas?" 

"Cheaper airfare?" Amanda tried. 

Cat waited. 

"I got a letter from Nick," Amanda confessed, thinking that Cat would never know how much it took for her to say that. "It has a Texas postmark." 

"So his leaving wasn't what you lead to me think?" Cat's mind jumped ahead. "He doesn't want to see you and you're going to use me?" There was a pause when Amanda expected Cat to remove her arm from where their two had been linked, and react badly. She did not. "All this, when you could have just asked?" 

Amanda was amazed at herself. Why was it she always seemed to believe in the most difficult path? Probably because she had legions of practice where the easy, direct route didn't work. 

"What could have possibly happened that Nick doesn't want to see you?" Cat asked, clearly at a loss. 

"We leave tomorrow, early" Amanda counseled, "there's plenty of time to talk about that on the flight." 

"He wrote you a letter, though?" 

"Yes, I got a letter." 

"What does it say?" 

"He's safe." _Dear God,_ Amanda thought, prayed, willed, _let him be safe. And maybe, just please maybe let him not hate me._

It occurred to her that she had better hurry over to Liam's in the morning with that check she had promised. 

_The End  
08/20/99_

* * *

**DISCLAIMER**

**CHARACTERS:** The characters of Nick Wolfe, Amanda (choose a surname), Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan, and Father Liam are all property of Gaumont/Rysher/Panzer-Davis, who have cast them aside like so much refuse, and made them suffer gross indignities. _Caitlin Michelle Richards (aka Sister Mary George) belongs to Richie and me. And she has currently taken a vow of silence concerning other writers._

**TIMELINE:** After _Dead on Arrival_ and my prior stories _If I Should Not Return,_ and _The Bird's-Eye View._ (Both which can be found at The Raven's Nest.) 

**EPIGRAPH:** Bit of a speech from _Hamlet_ (it's a play, by Wm. Shakespeare?) although hardly recognizeable here.  
USED WITHOUT PERMISSION. 

**BETA READ:** Yakut. Pup with a cravin' for the _Raven,_ and no respite in sight. Poor thing. 

* * *

© 1999  
Please send comments to the author! 

* * *


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